


In the Indigos of Darkness

by Calligrafiti



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-04
Updated: 2010-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calligrafiti/pseuds/Calligrafiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set around season 2, and working on the theory that Clark's 18, this story is pretty much a PWP in the aftermath of the tornadoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Indigos of Darkness

The tornadoes had kicked a lot of dust into the humid air. Lingering, it captured the ambient light, turning the black country night a rare midnight blue. Clark climbed up to his loft, unbuttoning his ragged dress shirt, with only starlight illuminating the stairs. It would be a day or so until the power company restored electricity to the farm, and the emergency generator only powered the house. He tossed a blanket, a pair of sweatpants, and a t-shirt on the couch.

"Fwah!"

Clark jumped as the clothes sailed back to land at his feet. "What the . . ." He looked more closely at the couch. A sleepy looking Lex glared back.

"Lex! You're alright."

"Aside from dreams of smothering, yeah."

"And a head wound," Clark gestured pointlessly in the darkness at the bandage above Lex's right eye. "I heard your dad was admitted to the hospital's ICU, but I couldn't find you there. And the castle phone is out."

"So's half the castle. Stone really should hold up better. I'll be my father got cheated on the mortar when they rebuilt it here." Lex's voice seemed higher than usual, stretched and tense. "It's always the little things that get you. Well, some big things too. Giant ceiling supports, for example. Huge chunks of half-timbering. Great big blasts of wind. Storms inside and out." He rubbed his eyes. "Death by pathetic fallacy. Jesus God."

"He hasn't . . ."

"Died? No. At least--" Lex fished his cell phone out of a pocket to check for messages. Its yellow light played briefly over his face, rendering him sallow. "No, not yet." He set it on the nearby shelf. "They don't know what's going to happen."  
Clark sat next to him on the couch.

"I should be at the hospital. You're going to ask me why I'm not."

"I –- no. I don't understand you and your dad. I guess you needed to be away. But I could drive you back if you want to go."

"No."

"You shouldn't drive with a head wound."

"No, I'm not going back. I'm not going to see him. There are things I need to do, people who count on me. And I can't do what I need to do if I feel sorry for him."

"Yeah, but, if he's hurt--"

"Clark, this is how it is. At 8:47 PM the paramedics took a broken, weak man out of a half-wrecked castle. They asked about his medical history--of which there is precious little, the vigorous son of a bitch--as they bandaged my head. And I told myself that the broken creature in my office wasn't my father. Lionel Luthor is a strong, fearless, selfish bastard who'd turn Smallville into a ghost town to make a point with me. That's who I've got to think about. I can't fight against him when he's not, he's not -- "Lex shook his head and winced.

"Shh. It's ok." Clark put a hand on his shoulder. "You can stay here and see him tomorrow when he's stronger."

"Thanks." Lex leaned into his hand briefly, and then slouched back against the couch. "How did you know I was asleep here?" he asked, looking at the clothes and blanket.

"I didn't. These are for me. My folks forgot to crack my bedroom window and the door fits tightly. The air pressure drop from the tornadoes blew out my bedroom window. Books, clothes, and debris all over the place. Don't worry, though. The couch folds out into a bed. It's an old, lumpy, kind of smelly bed. But it's softer than a hay bale." Clark stood up and drew Lex up with him. The shorter man swayed a bit on his feet and leaned against Clark for a moment. He kept blinking as if his eyelids didn't want to stay up.

"This'll just take a minute," Clark said, wondering if he needed to prop Lex against something. But he steadied enough to pull off the couch cushions. Together they turned the couch into something bedlike and collapsed into it. Clark didn't even bother to change into his sweats. They were both unconscious in minutes.

Around 3 am the moonlight reached into the loft. At first Clark thought the silver light had woken him, but then Lex moved against him again. His smooth head seemed to be burrowing into Clark's armpit while his right arm clutched around Clark's lower ribs. The combination was somewhere between ticklish and desperate. At Lex's muffled snore, laughter won. Clark tried to tamp down his giggles; this was not a position in which anyone should have to wake up. He carefully worked his arm under Lex's head until it rested against his shoulder.

In the moonlight Lex's skin seemed as white as his bandage. Blue shadows hid only his eyes. Clark examined his face, strange and slightly silly without Lex's forceful personality animating it. His mouth hung slack, a little open. Clark resigned himself to the possibility of drool on his shirt.

He could tell the moment Lex woke up. Lex didn't move, but awareness, Lexness, flooded his face, tension a hum just at the edge of Clark's hearing. "Clark?"

"You cuddle in your sleep. And snore."

"Sorry." Lex still didn't move.

"No problem." Clark didn't move.

They lay together for several minutes, the pale light ghosting over them. Finally Lex sighed. "I don't have the willpower to handle this."

"There's nothing to handle. Go back to sleep." Clark turned to pull up the blanket, and felt Lex's cock hard against his thigh. "Or, um, do you mean that?"

"Yes, that. I'll leave."

Clark felt reluctant to let Lex go. "It's alright. I don't mind."

"Clark." Lex pulled away.

Clark followed and turned further, deliberately rubbing against Lex, until he held him in both arms. Lex groaned. "It's ok," said Clark and he leaned in to kiss Lex's mouth. Lex lay still and taut for two hitching breaths. Finally he sighed and took over the kiss.

Clark felt Lex's tongue push into his mouth and relaxed, as Lex turned the kiss into something hot and deliberate. He flattened his hands against Lex's back, wondering what to do with them. Should he rub? Grab Lex's ass? Would Lex be self-conscious if he rubbed his head?

Lex pushed him back onto the mattress and his hand reflexively clutched Lex's shoulder blades. Lex moaned and dragged the tip of his tongue lightly over the roof of Clark's mouth. Clark trailed his fingers from Lex's shoulders to his waist and back up. Muscles shifted under his hands as Lex began moving against him.

Lex broke the kiss. One hand stroked lightly over the stubble on Clark's cheek. "This is reassuring, at least."

"You're worried about me?" Clark nuzzled Lex's hand.

"You're so damned young."

"I'm old enough." He licked Lex's palm and felt him shudder.

"You're not. But I'm having a lot of trouble caring." Lex bent his head and kissed the base of Clark's throat, tonguing the hollow.

Clark felt his cock straining against his battered dress pants. He clutched Lex's shirt in his fists, exposing inches of skin to his touch. Lex sat up, straddling him, and unbuttoned it enough to pull it over his head. Navy shadows clung to half of his body, lingering in the dips and edges of the moonlit half. Clark traced the lines of muscle and ribs with his fingers and heard Lex's breath hitch. He leaned up thinking to try the same thing with his mouth. When his cock rubbed against Lex's thigh he groaned and changed course, rubbing his face against the other man's chest instead.

Lex's arms went around him. "Mm. Solid," he murmured. He slid Clark's shirt up and over his head. Pushing him back against the mattress, Lex followed him down, inch after inch of skin meeting, warmth against warmth. Clark's hips thrust helplessly between Lex's thighs.

"Wait, Clark. Just a minute." Lex reached between them searching for a tiny zipper tab on an expanse of writhing teenager. His fumbling around Clark's abdomen felt wonderful, but it didn't get the pants undone. Meanwhile, Clark lifted his hips for some elusive, desperately needed friction.

Finally Lex's hand caught in Clark's waistband and he wrestled button and zipper, and the briefs beneath, down to Clark's knees. Lex's hand wrapped around Clark's cock. Clark's world shrank down to the action of four fingers, a lightly calloused palm, and a thumb rubbing right beneath the head of his penis. The only other thing to register was the harsh sound of Lex's breath.

Lex began to move his hand so, so slowly. Every stroke was different from Clark's near-nightly jerking off. Lex's fingers explored, traced, gripped so lightly. Clark didn't know a feather-light touch at the base of his cock could send sparks along every nerve ending. Or that running the side of a thumb against the slit at the tip could bring choked whimpers from the back of his throat. Lex smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, his hand tightening on Clark's cock.

Lex's cell phone rang.

Lex froze. Clark's head--raised to meet Lex's preempted kiss--fell back to the mattress with a thump. He closed his eyes and waited for Lex to answer the call. As Lex failed to move, Clark peered through his lashes to see him looking expressionlessly at the phone, which rang four more times. The ringing stopped.

"Lex, don't you need to get that?"

"I need this," he replied, and let go of Clark just long enough to unfasten and push down his own trousers. Leaning over Clark again, he drew his cock against the length of Clark's. They shuddered at the dragging, wet friction. Clark flattened one hand in the small of the other man's back, urging him closer. His other hand reached between them to clasp both cocks in one eager palm.

"Yes," hissed Lex. One hand on either side of Clark, he lay his head in the crook of Clark's neck and concentrated on the movement of their lower bodies.

It didn't take Clark long. Part of him, a very small part, was surprised he'd lasted past Lex's hand on him. The rest of him was slack with amazement at the way wet and heat and the sheer feel of Lex against him had combined to refashion every nerve ending. Synapses that had once said "cold" or "pressure" were now unanimous in saying, "mmmmmm."

He rubbed his hand down Lex's back, drawing it along the curve of his ass. Running his fingers along the cleft produced a groan and harder, ragged thrusts from Lex. He felt teeth worrying his shoulder, and a shudder from Lex. They lay together for a long moment—still, sticky, and satiated in the brilliant night.

At last Lex pulled away. He reached for his phone, checked the number, and called the hospital back.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Thamiris. The title's from Mary Oliver's poem "Poppies".


End file.
